Find The Good Ones or Let Me Go-Episode 5-Blue Ticks on the Black Ridge (ePub)

I used to weight one hundred and eighteen pounds “soaking wet” as they say. My curly, unmanaged, chestnut brown hair fell full to my hips. I often dressed in black; trench coats, leather, zipper boots with three-inch heels. Good quality, sturdy jeans, the kind you need for riding. My baby was a Harley Davidson; a Silver and blue Dyna Wide Glide, 1400 cc with the longest frame Harley made. It’s laid-back chopper profile, let me sit low, and my five-foot-tall frame could toe touched the pavement.

I rode without a helmet, releasing my hair to trail behind, like the silhouette on a mud flap of an 18-wheeler. I dyed my hair interesting colors, a mingling of wines, warm browns, and plums. Sometimes streaked with black, not unduly loud, subtle to play in the sunshine. My make-up was the same, not plastered on with a trowel, but as distinctive and chic as I liked to think my life was.

When I wasn’t riding, I was teaching the most disturbed of the high school-aged kids my district could find for me. Somehow, we connected. I understood that they were usually angry, desperate, and felt like school was a waste of life. They didn’t realize that School would determine the rest of their life. I tried to tell them, they determined their own fates. Most were successful and survived, I could only hope I helped.

As a child, I was the youngest of five in a lower to middle-class family. Because I had two older brothers, and two older sisters, I always sort of felt like an only child. The two boys would be off doing whatever boys did, and the two sisters were constantly trying to scratch each other’s eyes out! I wanted no part of it, so I developed a passion for reading in grade school that matured into the desire to write by middle school.

I distinctly recall the first time I picked up a pen to create words of my own. I was in seventh grade in the school cafeteria at “study hall”. Of course, no one studied at all, they visited with friends,